We all have a Moorland Mousie on our shelves

The Duchess of Cornwall's much-loved childhood book evokes memories of a
simpler time.

It must be tough being the Duchess of Cornwall. You are asked to name your favourite childhood book to help promote childhood literacy; an innocent enough task. And just because you happen to pick a pre-war tome about a moorland pony that wants nothing more than to grow up and go hunting, eyebrows are raised from Buck House to Exmoor.

I have some sympathy for the Duchess. In my hallway is a large box of my childhood paperbacks which recently I tried to give to my daughter. It contains the entire oeuvre of the Pullein-Thompson sisters; titles such as I Wanted a Pony, Jill Enjoys Her Ponies, and former showjumper Pat Smythe’s magnum opus Jacqueline Rides For a Fall (it is possible you will detect a theme here).

They are as luridly illustrated as any pulp fiction, falling apart from years of reading, and have been lovingly stored in our attic until the day I could pass them on. My daughter gave them barely a glance. “Um, thanks, but… not my thing really, Mum.”

After I dried my tears, I could see her point. How does a generation raised on Jacqueline Wilson and her social-workered problem child Tracey Beaker, or the American princesses of Sweet Valley High, deal with dialogue such as: “How did I meet Colonel Foxx? Oh, a chum took me along to the club for a drink and we ran into a group of characters…” Or: “Oh dry up,” I barked. “We certainly shan’t be needing our black coats to ride up for cups.”

No, children’s literature has changed, and I suspect that of my generation, like the Duchess of Cornwall’s, now represents a lost, and more innocent, world. My children honk with laughter at the travails of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House On The Prairie, with its parent-helping children and make-your-own Christmas presents (“Oh hooray! A potato!”).

Even the non-horsey books I loved, such as John Verney’s Friday’s Tunnel, are dismissed as “too slow”, or, worse, “weird”.

To be fair, some books do feel very dated. It is a rare parent who doesn’t wince while reading the Babar The Elephant books, with their colonials and hunters. Or Noddy, with its golliwogs and naughty tinkers. But I refuse to throw them out. Would you get rid of Wuthering Heights because of the references to Heathcliff’s “dark-skinned gypsy”? No, you accept them as the product of their times.

Ultimately, all that matters is that children keep reading. I hope the Duchess’s choice is enjoyed, as she hopes, by a new generation. There are few children’s books these days that celebrate rural life, rather than make-up, girl-cliques, or the felling of evil Japanese monsters by other, smaller monsters.

We may buy a copy of Moorland Mousie. I suspect, however, that I will be the one who ends up reading it, and with a nostalgic tear in my eye.